


Slip Over My Shoulder

by visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Slash, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hallucinations, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, both pairings and most characters may be hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-09
Updated: 2005-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Miguel Alvarez licks a postage stamp and trips, his mind wandering to certain other denizens of Oz. (Set during Season 1.)
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily, Tobias Beecher/Ryan O'Reily
Kudos: 1





	Slip Over My Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving Note: I'm archiving this from the future and backdating it. This old fic was posted elsewhere first, but I'm pretty sure I got the backdate right this time!
> 
> Warning: Oz was full of bad language, homophobic, misogynistic, and racist slurs and attitudes. Terrible attitudes towards many things really, plus violence, drugs use, other bad deeds, etc. They were an offensive bunch, and any of my Oz fic could contain those offensive things. Other than the drug use, this one is fairly mild, though.

Miguel ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, waiting to disappear into the kick that lurked behind the slight tang of glue. He hadn't thought to ask how the fuck Groves had gotten his magic postage stamps. Didn't care at the moment. He just wanted to...melt. Drift. Be somewhere warm and light. 

Miguel waited for the shift while Groves stayed perched up on his bunk, watching. 

Miguel was used to being watched. Store owners, lilywhite uptown people whose hands went to their wallets and whose steps picked up a jitter when he and his boys got too close on the street. Cops, hacks, women and men whose eyes raked over him greedily. He turned on the strut for all of them, regardless of the whys. Cocky and unafraid. _Yeah, baby, watch me. I own your attention, good or bad. Mine to play with._

The high crept up and before he knew it, the world was saturated. Miguel suddenly couldn't remember if good ol' Groves had licked some of that postage for his own trip. But he was on the edge of Miguel's new tunnel vision, anyway. Slipping away. A quiet observer outside of Miguel's new world. 

New world. The pod didn't seem like a trap anymore, the fishbowl shifting to a telescopic view. Miguel's gaze was drawn back to the glass. The sparse play of light in the darkened Em City seemed trapped there. Emerald city. A joke. It never shined. Dull and dirty and full of violence. 

Reflections warped in the glass, drawing him closer. The light shifted. Could almost see pictures. Echoes of the day, of the men trapped behind the glass. 

Fuck…far trip for so little postage. Miguel would have to find out about Groves' contact. This was better than the 'ludes from the Ward. That's all Miguel could usually get his hands on for free. It's what El Norte moved. The harder tits were moved by the Italians, the homeboys, and the Irish. Had to pay a price for those. Unless… 

The Irish drifted into his head as he looked out into the now sparkling dark, Em City turned liquid by the glass. 

O'Reily got high off his own stash. Everyone knew it. He shared it with that fucking prag. No one knew exactly why. Miguel only noticed how closely Ryan loomed against the other man when they slipped together. 

Miguel felt the warming shift down to his bones. He'd be sickly dizzy if it didn't feel so good. Release of letting go. Raising your arms on a rollercoaster. Let go of the bar and just ride it. Become one with it. Shirtless and sweating even in the chill, Miguel leaned against the stone wall by the glass, watching the bend of light out of the corner of his eye. 

There was color and light there that wasn't in his grey pod. 

Inside the pod, there was a vulture on the bed, watching him. One that picked the dead clean. Miguel wasn't dead, so he didn't worry. 

He wished there was someone other than the vulture here. Someone other than the light dancing on the glass, and the cool grey walls that reached out to his skin, curling around him. 

The light bent and the echoes got louder. Miguel turned his attention back to the glass…saw those echoes form pictures. Like a movie. Like ghosts dancing outside his pod. 

O'Reily and the prag, blonde hair shining. Long body pressing close, curling around. Slippery devil tongue whispering into naïve ear. Miguel had seen them. Tumbling out of empty pods. Smiling. Thrown over each other to hold steady from the buzz. 

Saw them now, right on the other side of the glass. Weren't quite as vivid as the real thing. Held his eyes though. Theirs was a high that was _shared_. 

The more he paid attention, the more solid they became. 

O'Reily and Beecher stumbled out of the dark, putting on a show for him, one arm anchored over another's shoulders. Sheltering. Pulling along. Suddenly the dance changed, shifted like the light in the dark. Two bodies turning towards each other, arms pulling closer. Miguel could swear he heard the echoing rattle as O'Reily's back thumped against the glass inches from his face. 

Miguel didn't flinch. He slid closer, craning his head. Saw the prag slip to his knees. Miguel was laughing lowly as another dull thud echoed against the glass. Ryan's head knocking back with a groan. It slipped through the barrier of the glass, another wave of sensation reaching out to Miguel. 

Wonder if the vulture was seeing _this_. 

Arch of pale throat, hand burying in that shining gold hair. That smooth liar's grin turning open and laughing. O'Reily's other hand slapped against the glass. Miguel's entire world focused on that flushed palm pressed there with a wish of steadiness. 

Was this real? Had he ever seen this happen? Miguel grinned. No. But ….maybe. He'd seen the traces of it in the day. Those two…sharing tits, sharing gasps. Wasn't a long trip from one to the other for some. One high as good as the next. 

He reached out idly, body thrumming and lost to the waves of the drug and the echoes of light. He drew his hand over that adamant palm print. Under the pads of his fingers, the glass felt like…warm skin. The groan got louder, chasing the new soft wet sounds. 

Green eyes fluttered closed and Miguel's followed without effort. Suddenly he was pure feeling. Unending stone against his side, holding him up. Warm flesh under his hand. His? 

O'Reily's? 

Dizzy. 

His tongue darted out to his lips. Dry, dry, dry. Needed damp. 

The damp let him feel the warm gust of breath when it came. Ghosting in, across his face. He opened his eyes, worried about the vulture. But all he saw were green eyes as that press of living warmth graced his mouth. 

Miguel let himself be swallowed by the high. 

***  
End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for maya_salazar. Her request: "I want Alvarez/postage stamp hallucination about Ryan."
> 
> Title taken from "Fascination Street" by The Cure


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